Come Hell or High Water
by Massiecur
Summary: Lena has given up on ever becoming the fun, outgoing girl-who-matters she wants to be in her seventh year. But she might have her chance after grad, with the return of Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix, who need as much help as they can get.
1. Feeling Small

"You look like a retard," I muttered, flipping through the pages of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. Potions homework was the worst, in my opinion, but it still needed to be finished. NEWTs were coming up, and I wanted to pass.

"I what?" Lauren asked, looking at me with raised eyebrows. Her blue blouse had cap sleeves. No one would take her seriously in cap sleeves and a patterned pencil skirt. She had a job interview in Hogsmeade today, and we were planning on heading down there at noon. Everyone else had gone earlier, but Lauren wanted to make sure she looked alright.

"You look nice," I lied, shutting the heavy book with my homework squished between the pages. It, along with my quill and ink bottle, was shoved haphazardly into my bag. In turn, my bag was thrown rudely under my bed.

"You think?" she asked unsurely, looking over my chosen outfit – a pair of faded jeans and a grey long-sleeve tee shirt. "Maybe I should pick something else. What about that black and white striped sweater dress I got for Christmas?"

"Go for it," I agreed, although Lauren was too busy overdosing her backcombed chestnut brown bun with hairspray to listen to me. Personally I thought she was overdoing it for a job interview at Gladrags, but she wanted it bad. Graduation was in three weeks, and she was in a frenzy to get a job secured. Lauren wanted to move into a flat on the outskirts of Hogsmeade and become a Muggle clothing designer. Yeah, good luck.

"You're so helpful Lena," Lauren complimented honestly, grabbing the dress from her wardrobe and changing into it behind her bed hangings.

"Right," I mumbled, pulling on my cloak. Lauren followed close behind, much more presentable without cap sleeves.

*

While Lauren was in the back room going through the interview, I wandered aimlessly through the store. There were a few girls from Hogwarts – mostly ones who didn't like me – shopping, but most of the customers were middle-aged ladies looking for new, fancy cloaks and robes, and new shoes. I glanced at some ridiculous high heels for a bit, but got bored quickly and switched to examining myself in a store mirror instead.

I was never a big fan of the way I look, but I accepted it anyway because there was nothing I could do to change it. My eyes were bottle green and big, which I called buggy and Lauren called inviting, but I think she just likes them because hers are a lovely, regular size. Her hair is also a lovely, regular brown and wavy, like normal hair should be. Mine was a very light yellowy blonde, wispy, and pin straight. My nose was straight and not too big though, and my chin was nice and didn't make my cheeks look chubby or make my face look round and fat. I was as tall as Lauren, around five foot five or something and skinnier than her in a borderline anorexic-looking way. I couldn't help it, but compared to Lauren (which I always think of) I was very plain and sort of sickly looking. Lauren was the prettiest girl in our year; her last name is Fortune, for Merlin's sake! That's got to mean something.

Which it obviously did, because when she came out of the back room she was smiling like she'd won a million Galleons, and nearly shouted, "I got the job!" and hugged me. I hugged her back half-heartedly, honestly a little jealous. I wasn't thinking at all about life outside of Hogwarts, even though I was graduating way too soon for comfort. I'd tried to be more outgoing in my last year, to make it count; I put my name in for the Triwizard Tournament (and after seeing the first two tasks, I was ever so glad I didn't make it); I made friends with notorious pranksters Fred and George Weasley (who are actually pleasant people); I spent less time and effort on homework (stopped getting top marks, but also had tons more free time); I even learned how to swim (and I'm petrified of water)!

"Congrats Lauren," I praised, following her out of Gladrags and into the chilly June afternoon. It was cold for a summer day, but seeing as the sky was caked with dark clouds and a pretty fierce wind was brewing, I wasn't surprised. Nor was anyone else, it appeared, as any Hogwarts student we passed had their cloaks and scarves wrapped warmly around their bodies. It was a picturesque scene, with all the boys fresh-faced, the girls' hair blowing almost artistically, and green leaves twisting and turning across the stone-flagged streets; well, it would have been picturesque if it was autumn.

"Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," Lauren suggested, half smiling and half pouting with full, red-lipstick lips. Not that it was a question or anything; you just didn't disagree with Lauren. If you were a boy on a date with her, and she asked you to strip down to your shorts and jump into the lake with the giant squid, you did it. And you didn't ask any questions. You could, it was totally allowed, but you just didn't.

So I said, "Sure" and we went. I was craving a Butterbeer anyway, and Lauren (being Lauren) would want to have some Firewhisky to celebrate her new job. I didn't drink, even though I was seventeen and could therefore legally drink in the Wizarding world. It just wasn't my 'thing'; Lauren was a party girl though. I'm sure you know the type.

We secured a table near the back, and took off our cloaks. Where outside was chilly, inside the Three Broomsticks was comfortably warm; add the internal-heating drink, and the cloaks just needed to come off. "You know, I didn't think I'd get that job," Lauren admitted to me. "I thought for sure they'd tell me no way, because I can't start for at least three weeks. But the guy loved me! And he was pretty cute, too." She winked mischievously. "He told me to call him River. Isn't that just the cutest!"

"He looked like he was in his thirties, Laur. That's sort of gross." I took a long sip of Butterbeer as Lauren rolled her eyes.

"Maybe I want an older, more mature guy, huh?"

"Maybe you're just a whore," I retorted, and Lauren giggled like it was a joke. I laughed too, but I wasn't joking.

"We should head back to school," I said, finishing off the bottle.

"Why? We just got here," Lauren asked, but she put on her cloak anyway, and followed me out the door.


	2. Girl Like That

The last task of the Triwizard Tournament was swiftly approaching, and the excitement level in the school was through the roof. The points of Cedric Diggory (Lauren had a crush on him once) and little fourth year Harry Potter were tied, if my math was right, which was pretty cool. We all thought he'd be dead by the end of the first task, because dragons are no walk in the park. (Not that I know from personal experience or anything. It's just kind of obvious.)

In saying that, the common room was a tidal wave of noise as soon as you came down the dormitory stairs. All the Gryffindors supported him now, and since the third task was in two days, they were trying to make him feel as big as possible. It didn't seem to be working though, because Potter looked as down and angry as ever about the task. Then again, Potter always seemed angry or sad or depressed about something. For good reason, sure, but wasn't that kid ever happy?

"He's kinda cute," Lauren whispered, looking at the black—haired scarboy as we left the common room to go to class.

"Ew, he's fourteen," I countered, and she rolled her eyes, muttering that age was just a number. Yeah, just a number that defined who you should probably not hit on. "Fourteen" was one of such numbers. So was anything over twenty, for that matter. At least for a girl of seventeen years old.

"You're just jealous," Lauren said happily. I wasn't sure what I was apparently jealous of, but I didn't ask. It was nearly nine and if we didn't hurry we'd be late for Transfiguration, and Professor McGonagall didn't take too happily to tardy students. I vaguely wondered why there were so many people in the common room instead of heading to class as I took my seat, but it wasn't really my business. It wouldn't hurt me any if a bunch of fourth years were late for their lessons. Unless it was Potions they were late for, because I had Snape next, and he'd be in a right state if his first class of the day was half full of late Gryffindors. He hated us all enough already.

As it was so close to NEWT examinations (even though the Triwizard Tournament was going on, and general end-of-year exams had been omitted, OWL and NEWT exams were still happening) we were mostly just doing review, so Lauren and I didn't have to pay much attention. In the noise that was our seventh year class turning desks into warthogs, we could have a very private conversation right in the middle of the classroom where we sat. We only transfigured our desks once, and luckily McGonagall hadn't noticed that Lauren's warthog's tail was a desk leg.

"So I heard a whisper," Lauren started in a teasing voice, to which I replied with, "stop eavesdropping." Lauren was always hearing things, rumours mostly, and I didn't like to be on the receiving end of whatever she found out. It was all usually untrue anyway, and what wasn't, was stuff that really should have been kept private. Like last year, when Marcus Flint (a Slytherin who'd failed his seventh year and repeated it last year) had managed to shag a Ravenclaw girl. Amazing, yes – miraculous even – but I really didn't need to know that.

Lauren smiled and smacked me lightly on the arm. "I heard a whisper that Percy Weasley has a _thing_ for you."

I cocked a very disbelieving eyebrow at my best friend. "He's not even in school anymore. And that's gross."

"He's here as a stand-in for Crouch," Lauren reminded me, and I made a silent "oooh" with my lips. She continued: "Apparently he was totally checking you out at the Yule ball, and was going to ask you to dance but then you started dancing with that Beauxbatons guy."

"He was a dunce," I informed, but Lauren obviously didn't care.

"Percy's cute, you should talk to him." She winked. I wrinkled my nose.

"Never going to happen; Percy's a huge dork. His greatest aspiration, as he told anyone who would listen last year, is to become Minister of Magic. What a bore."

"What, do you want a bad boy?" Lauren teased, smacking my arm again. She really needed to break that habit – for, as soft as she did hit me, I was starting to bruise. "Someone like, hmm… Sirius Black?"

"Oh, yes," I said in a very sarcastic voice of longing. "I love my men old, with long, greasy, matted hair from being in Azkaban for murdering a bunch of muggles." I rolled my eyes. "That might be _your_ type, but it's so not mine."

"You're no fun Lena," Lauren sighed, and I refrained from reminding her all the very unboring things I'd done that year. For trying to be more like Lauren, I wasn't doing a very good job of it. Not the slut part of course, I could do without that, but I wanted to be outgoing like her. People flocked her because they knew she was fun. The only time I got flocked was when Lauren had pants me in the Charms corridor (and they mostly only flocked to laugh).

*

It appeared that someone had, indeed, been late for Potions. I'm not sure if it was the fourth years, or just any non-Slytherins in general, but when Lauren, Christine Taylor, and I walked into Potions before class began, but as Snape began to talk, we got the harshest yelling-at I'd ever known him to give. Then we got detention, and were split up through the class so we couldn't sit together and "disrupt his class further". In my opinion, Professor Snape is an old, jealous git, but he makes the rules and we must comply. I'd be jealous too if I were greasy, lonely, and in my thirties.

"This is ridiculous," Lauren grumbled, heading over to sit with a not-so-cute Slytherin boy. Lauren looked disgusted and almost oppressed; the Slytherin looked like it was his birthday and Lauren had just jumped out of his cake. Gross. Christine got sat by another Gryffindor girl; I was placed beside a Slytherin girl with curly hair. She glared at me when I sat down, and I scooted my chair as far over on the table as I could manage. We were mixing an Everlasting Elixir today, something more advanced than I could ever have imagined. Good thing I don't want to be an Auror, I thought, because there's no way I'm going to pass Potions. We had studied Everlasting Elixirs last year, but obviously none of us had ever imagined we'd have to brew one. Almost every face in the dungeon classroom was shocked, confused, or angry.

We made it anyway. It was meant to look shiny silver in colour, and be very watery in texture. Mine looked like cement mix, and the curly-haired Slytherin's didn't seem any more complete. Hers was a shady orange; at least mine was grey, which made me feel better. Snape very openly writing a very large "three" on his paper when he looked at my vialed potion got rid of any elated feeling very, very rapidly, however. The Slytherin girl sneered at me. I stuck out my tongue and told her to stop shagging the teacher for good marks when Lauren and I exited the classroom. She pulled out her wand to hex me, but by the time she pulled it out of the pocket of her robe I was long gone, lost in the heavy crowd streaming towards the Great Hall for lunch.

I was headed in that direction too, before Lauren began tugging me away. And by tugging, I mean she grabbed my wrist and dragged me towards the Gryffindor tower. "I'm hungry," I said bluntly, but she ignored me and kept pulling me out of the crowds. We never made it as far as the tower, but we were alone anyway, and Lauren looked frantic.

"What did you mean about that girl shagging Professor Snape?" she asked urgently, not releasing her iron grip on my wrist. I had to tug my arm away for her to realise she was even still holding it; she dropped my wrist like she'd been burnt.

"Nothing," I defended, readjusting my book bag on my shoulder. I had not only _A Guide to Transfiguration_ and _Advanced Potion Making_ inside, which were both very heavy, but _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_ and _Achievements in Charming_ as well. Lauren had the exact same books (if you switched the Muggle Studies book to an Arithmancy book, because Lauren was a Muggle-born anyway) but they didn't seem to be bothering her at all. All she was bothered about was what I'd teased the Slytherin about earlier.

"So you don't actually think she's with him?" Lauren asked, and I said, "no" with finality and the whole ordeal was over. Yes, I was itching to ask Lauren what in the bloody hell had possessed her to do that, or why she cared about in who Snape put his privates, but she was in too calm a mood for me to dare ask. Well, calm compared to what she'd been just a moment ago. As we speed walked down to the Great Hall to eat before classes started up again, she ranted and raved about the disgusting boy she'd had to sit by. We made a pact to come to Potions five minutes early for the next three weeks. No way would Lauren and I suffer through another ordeal like that. You had to admire Professor Snape for his deftness in Potions… but that was the only thing one could find to admire about the slimy toad.


	3. Stay Alive

The evening of June twenty fourth was upon us in what felt like the blink of an eye. Lauren and I were sitting at the Gryffindor table for dinner, being rowdy and loud and excited like everyone else. We were half trying to get Harry Potter's spirits up so he'd win this for Hogwarts _and_ for Gryffindor, and we were half trying to make ourselves more high-spirited. While Potter, Diggory, Krum, and Delacour would be running through a hedge maze, we'd all be sitting in the stands looking at nothing. As far as we all knew, it was impossible to see into the maze; so why did there need to be an audience at all? I was considering not even going. I had Charms homework to do anyway.

"But you have to go," Lauren said when I voiced this to her. "This is exciting! And we can scope out cute foreign boys in the stands."

"Like Professor Karkaroff!" I joked, and Lauren mimed throwing up while smacking me on the shoulder.

"So don't like my men that old," she defended, half-giggling, half-looking actually sick. I laughed hard; it wasn't very often that one got the pleasure of seeing Lauren with a most unattractive facial expression.

*

We sat beside Kennedy – a red-haired, brown-eyed Ravenclaw first year – in the stands. I used to babysit Kennedy in the summers when I needed some extra spending money for on the Hogwarts Express, in Diagon Alley, and Hogsmeade when I got older. She was cheering on Cedric Diggory, because Cho Chang (fifth year) was her cousin, and Cho and Cedric had a little something-something going on between them. I think that was the reason Lauren stopped liking him. ("Ew, he likes a fifth year?" she'd said when we found out near the beginning of the year. I think it's just that Lauren hates Cho, not fifth years in general. She thought Cho was a "pretentious little bitch" or something, I don't know.)

"This is so exciting!" Kennedy shouted between cheering with everyone else as the four contestants were placed at their starting posts and told the whole deal. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my body, and the excitement of the crowd was making me jittery and hyper. Lauren and I started yelling our lungs out when the first gun went off, and Harry and Cedric started into the big hedge maze. We kept up in the excitement until Fleur Delacour had disappeared inside, and then we settled down. We would now play the waiting game – who would win the cup, and how long would it take? I wished I'd brought my Charms homework out with me.

"So, have you thought about Percy lately?" Lauren asked when the crowd settled down to wait. They couldn't be excited forever.

"No, why would I?" I asked seriously. "I don't like him."

"Well maybe if you gave him a try, you might!" Lauren, always the optimist; always when it didn't have anything to do with her, anyway.

"I don't want a thing to do with Percy Weasley," I said forcefully, glancing down to the judge's table, where he sat smugly, like the king of the world. More like the king of the bigheads; that boy had enough hot air to bring the lake to a boil.

"What about Fred Weasley?" she tried, nudging me in the arm with her elbow.

"He's a year younger than me," I said, although I was just making up excuses. I didn't care that he was sixteen. "Besides, I don't like redheads." Another lie, so she'd get off my back. What sort of fixation did she have on the Weasleys anyway? If she liked them so much, why didn't she go off and date one?

"You don't like redheads?" Kennedy asked from beside me, appalled. I'd completely forgotten she'd been sitting there, because she was engrossed in conversation with another first year.

"I don't want to date a redhead," I rephrased, and she stuck her tongue out at me like she didn't believe me. I didn't really care; because either she'd forget she was mad at me in ten seconds, or I'd graduate in a mere one and a half weeks and never have to see her again. Unless I became a Hogwarts professor, which is what I secretly have always wanted to be. The Defence Against the Dark Arts post always seemed open lately, and since Professor Moody was only sticking around for one year, I assumed the next Joe would only last a year too; whether that be of choice… or not. Anyway, that led me to believe that the post would be open for me in two years' time, when I'd learned a bit more about, not only Dark Arts defence, but teaching as well.

The first (and only) red sparks were sent up not long into the event, and Professor McGonagall went in. She was only in for a few moments before she came back, levitating Fleur's body on a strecher before her.

"Merlin," Lauren muttered, staring wide-eyed as the blonde beauty was brought into the medi-tent. "Wonder what happened to her?!"

"She looks stunned," a voice behind us supplied. We both whipped our heads around to face Harry Potter's fourth year comrades, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. I hadn't even noticed them there when Lauren and I had sat down. Not that I noticed them on a regular basis or anything.

"No," Lauren argued in a very light tone. "It looks worse."

"Maybe," I said, turning back around. Lauren stared, almost like a contest, at Granger for a while, before she too turned back around. It would be a long wait, we were sure, until anything else happened, and I, as well as Lauren obviously, did not want to spend it sitting in front of someone angry at Lauren. It could possibly be quite un-enjoyable.

*

"Oh my God!" someone shouted, and everyone seemed to come alive out of a bored stupor. We all looked collectively to the body of Harry Potter, lying bloody on the grass, gripping the Triwizard cup (which had, it seemed, port-keyed him back from God knows where) in one hand, and the… dead body of Cedric Diggory in the other?

"Merlin, he's dead!" someone else screamed, and the crowd started into a loud panic.


	4. Gives You Hell

I don't really think I like this chapter. Thanks to all who reviewed -- no one.

* * *

Lauren and I sat quietly in the seventh year girls' dormitory. We didn't cry, but we didn't talk, or smile, or ask questions either. We were finished packing for tomorrow, but we weren't tired enough to sleep, even though it was ten thirty and the five other girls in our dorm were passed out. We'd cried at the memorial feast that night, though. No house cup was announced, and I think that's the way it should have been, although many people – mostly Slytherins – thought the whole thing was a sham. Professor Dumbledore told us everything, too, even though he probably wasn't supposed to; how the cup had been a portkey, and Harry and Cedric had been taken straight to Voldemort. He told us that Voldemort had killed Cedric, and that he was of full and able body… That he was back. We cried through nearly the whole ordeal, and barely ate a bit. Lauren and Cedric were friends once upon a time, and I'd barely even spoken to him, besides the first week of classes last year when I kept forgetting my ink. But it was such a depressing, and frightening, event that we just couldn't help it.

"What a way to spend our last days at Hogwarts," Lauren said in a choked whisper, and all I could do was nod my head in agreement.

"I can't believe You-Know-Who is back," I said, staring at my hands folded in my lap.

"Do you really think he is?" Lauren asked critically, and I looked up at her. She had a perfectly sculpted eyebrow cocked.

"Well yeah," I said, a little confused. Actually, I was really confused. "Don't you?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I mean, it is all a little fishy, isn't it? And we're just riding on Potter's word, what if he's lying? Professor Dumbledore always trusts everything the kid says one hundred percent. Maybe we should start taking his word with a grain of salt."

"So you think he's lying?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from rising. "Well then how did Cedric die, huh? Do you think Potter killed him? 'Cause I sure as hell don't think it was an accident. Merlin, Lauren…"

"Shhh," Lauren demanded, looking around as a few of the girls stirred. "I didn't say that at all. I just think we should keep open minds."

"I just think you're a nut," I retorted, pulling the hangings closed around me. I was furious at her, and I didn't even want to look at her. I didn't want to know what was wrong with her, not tonight. I'd either figure it out or forget it on the train home tomorrow. I just wanted to sleep.

*

Lauren and I shared a compartment with Fred and George Weasley, and Lee Jordan. It was Lauren's choice – she lied about having a crush on Lee – so that I couldn't grill her on our conversation last night. I didn't mind though. It was better to just forget it and go on like nothing happened when it came to Lauren Fortune. Because if you tried to bring something up with her, she'd bring up something you said ages ago and hold it over your head until you dropped the current argument.

"You should write us during the summer," Lauren suggested, winking at Lee. I thought it was pretty awful of her to flirt with him when she actually didn't like him, but maybe she just liked to flirt. I hoped this didn't end up like most of her other flirting escapades though; I'd have to be pretty grossed out if Lee Jordan had sex with Lauren.

"Yeah," I agreed, looking more at the twins. "I'd love to be kept updated about everything." Since they were friends with Harry Potter, I assumed automatically that they'd know more than the Prophet would report.

"Sure," George said, judging Lee with his elbow and wiggling his eyebrows. Lauren was staring at him through her eyelashes, with her head tilted down, and I think I was the only one who wasn't fooled. Fred and George obviously thought Lauren wanted Lee for more than just a random shag, if even that.

When the food trolley came around, Fred and I both hopped out of our seats to buy treats. We took our time, too, letting everyone else go ahead while we stood back.

"I can't believe Lauren," I finally said, and Fred, to my surprise, nodded his head.

"She's not the best of people." He agreed.

"No kidding," I said, buying a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, some liquorice wands, and some cauldron cakes for a Sickle and six Knuts. Fred just got some pumpkin juice, and we walked slowly back to our compartment together. When we got there, George was gone, and Lee and Lauren were snogging like it was the end of the world.

"Oh gross," I whispered, and Fred and I slinked off to find somewhere else to sit. We found George sitting with his brother Ron, and Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, half way down the train. They graciously let us join them, although the compartment was now quite full. I was introduced to all of them, and found they were quite the enjoyable lot all together. Hermione was even able to help me figure out what I did wrong on my Potions final three days ago, and it was a great relief, although it wouldn't help my mark at all now.

We talked and ate happily, and played a few rounds of Exploding Snap, and I found myself a bit sad when the train finally pulled into Kings Cross station. In only three quarters of a day I'd made friends almost as good as Lauren, although I couldn't imagine confiding my secrets in any of these people – like how I had a crush on Professor Lupin when he taught us last year, even though he was a werewolf – or spending hours upon hours studying for Charms with these people, like I did with Lauren last year. But we were close now, and we all exchanged addresses and promised to write each other over the summer.

I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to Lauren for the two weeks we'd be apart, because I couldn't find her before I left the platform and caught up with my mom in the ladies' bathroom to apparate back home. That was one of the convenient things about not having a dad around – if mom and I ever needed to apparate, we could just do it from a bathroom.


	5. Whatever

Thank you again to the painful lack of reviewers. I don't even know if anyone is reading this -- doesn't seem like it -- but I'm going to keep posting it anyway. Maybe someday someone will. Oh yeah, and I don't like this chapter.

* * *

We never had a very nice house, since my dad never stuck around after mom got pregnant, but it seemed shabbier than usual when I got home. The kitchen, although still falling apart and cracking and chipping and nearly moulding, wasn't as spotless as it usually was. Mom was always proud of her surgically clean kitchen, but now it just looked like a junkyard.

The living room carpet was beige-grey instead of white, and a couch was missing. All that was left was two armchairs, one with a fresh tear in the arm. The walls were yellowing from water damage, and the ceiling was playing host to a giant fault spreading from one corner to the opposite.

In the bathroom, the grimy tap was leaking, and the shower drain was clogged. There were no clean towels in the bathroom closet, the toilet would not flush, and there was a mouse taking up home underneath the sink, between the shampoo bottle and the drain cleaner.

The bedrooms were the only rooms that looked habitable, although mine had about seventy years worth of dust layered on everything. My clothes were folded nicely in the dresser and hung up in the closet, my bed was made with once-fresh white sheets, and my radio was still sitting pleasantly on my writing desk, surrounded by parchment, quills, and ink wells. I didn't even want to look in mom's room, although it was similar in cleanliness to mine.

"How have you been living in this?" I asked, completely baffled. "I mean, have you been eating, or showering, or using the bathroom?"

"I haven't been living in this," she replied honestly, taking my trunk from me and hauling it into my bedroom. I followed behind her, keeping my shoes on for fear of stepping on something potentially dangerous.

"Well where have you been living?" A frog hopped by my foot, and I nearly stepped on it. Thank Merlin I didn't have an owl or some other pet (at this point in time anyway – any other day I'd be having a fit about not having an owl. It's horribly inconvenient not to have one) because this would have been very unsanitary living conditions for it.

"Uhm, with… someone." She fiddled with the sleeve of her sweater, even though, in my opinion, it was much too hot to wear a sweater. I was in a tee shirt, myself. "But it doesn't matter now, because we're going to get this place all cleaned up, and in a fit state again."

"Who is someone?" I asked.

"You ask a lot of questions," mom replied, but she didn't answer me. "Get unpacked, and then you can help me tackle the bathroom."

"Uh-huh," I muttered, shutting my bedroom door when she left. It creaked, which was just irritating. It had never creaked before; this was just from obvious lack of care. Lack of care, because mom found it necessary to live somewhere else for three quarters of a year, and refrain from telling me who, and let the house turn into a junkyard. Yeah, welcome home Lena, your house is bloody trash.

I pulled all my robes and spell books and miscellaneous items out of my Hogwarts-crested trunk and made three piles out of it. Pile one had the things I didn't need to keep – spell books, old homework, and bits of broken quills and spilled-on parchment from the very bottom of the trunk – which all would be thrown out. Pile two were things to keep that I would use – muggle clothes, my dress from the Yule Ball, full ink wells, and fresh quills and parchment – which needed to be put away sometime soon. Pile three was stuff I'd never use – my Hogwarts robes, the first and only Potions assignment I'd gotten one hundred percent on, and other meaningful stuff – which I would need to find storage for. Things like that I decided to just leave in my trunk, and then push my trunk into an empty corner of my closet.

"Lena, are you almost done?" mom yelled, and I yelled "no!" back. In all honesty, I just didn't want to help her clean. So I took up post at my cherry wood writing desk, dipped a quill in ink, and wrote the same letter three times over – one to Fred and George, one to Lauren, and one to Hermione Granger, who I felt a bit of a bond with, although why I've yet to figure out

_I'm going to die here. Mum hasn't cleaned the house  
since at least September. We have no food, either, as  
far as I can tell. Please get me out of here! Or at least  
send food. Thanks and love, Lena._

I added a PS on Lauren's letter, reminding her that she starts her job in August so if she wants to spend time with me this summer, it best be in July. I rolled all three letters up separately, and slipped out my bedroom window into the warm, fading light of a June evening. I lived in a small, all-magic community, and just down the street from the post office. Thankfully, too, because if I had been gone longer than the ten minutes it took to walk down there, send three letters, then half-jog back, mom would have noticed.

Finally, upon returning, I started helping mom. She was still on the bathroom because her household spells weren't very good. Not that mine were any better, but she seemed nervous and less confident in her ability. In turn, that made her spells even worse. Together it took us a half hour to get the bathroom sparkling, and we moved onto the living room. We couldn't fix the walls or the ceiling – those weren't things you could use magic to correct – but we cleaned the carpet and took the stains and dust out of the chair, and fixed the rip in the arm of one.

By the time we were actually finished the kitchen, it was midnight, and we felt like we'd cleaned it all with our hands instead of with our wands. I filled two cups with ice water for mom and me as we sat tiredly at the kitchen table. We were completely drained, and all I wanted to do was get rid of the dust caking my room and pass out for a couple hours. Mom pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and ran her hands through her thin, dirty blonde hair. She was only in her forties, but she looked older and more tired.

"What's on your arm?"

As she dropped her hand from her head, I'd caught a glimpse of some sort of black mess on her arm. She laughed nervously and pulled down her sleeve.

"I must have got some grime on it from the bathroom," she said, excusing herself to the bathroom. I was too tired to think any more of it, so I just shrugged it off and hauled myself up and into my bedroom. Dusting everything off was the last bit of magic I did for the day before changing into pyjamas and falling asleep not a minute after my head hit the pillow.

*

I woke up to a beak tapping on my window. One of the owls I'd sent out was back, and apparently very impatient because he was about to tap a hole in my window. As much as I wished I could just ignore the barn owl, I could not, so instead of pulling the blankets up over my head I rolled out of bed – literally – and stumbled tiredly to the window. When I unlatched it, the owl took flight and backed up so I could push it open. The bird flew inside, and flew off the moment I had the letter from his leg.

The letter was in a regular paper envelope dyed yellow with onion juice, and kept closed with an unstamped blob of red wax, so I knew it was from Lauren. She always tried to make her muggle paper look like parchment. I was never sure why she cared so much.

It was a fairly short and boring note. Nothing was said about my mom leaving our house to rot, all it mentioned was that she was going to apparate on the fourth of July, and leave somewhere in the last week. As it was, she was still living with her parents and not in a flat in Hogsmeade like she'd planned. She just didn't have the money to pay, which surprised me little, if not at all. I scribbled a note back that said very little more than "okay", and then realized I had no way to send it and didn't want to pay at the post office to send it. I crumpled it up and threw it in the wastepaper basket.

Mom was making pancakes. I knew because I could smell them as I pulled on my jeans and an old tee shirt that was a size too small, but had the Superman logo on the front. Lauren had bought it for me for my thirteenth birthday, after I went to her house between second and third year, and she introduced me to the Superman movies. I hadn't worn it since fifth year, but it was promising to be a hot day, I could tell by the sky, so a shirt showing off my belly button wouldn't seem out of place.

Mom was wearing a long-sleeved tee shirt. I asked why when she put a plate of pancakes and maple syrup on the table, but she didn't answer. Instead she just said, "There are six pancakes there. You can have three," and sat down across from me. We ate in strangely awkward silence, until, halfway through my third pancake, I said, "I need to go to Diagon Alley."

"Why?" mom asked, taking my plate and hers to the sink. I still had half a pancake left, but I was feeling stuffed, so I didn't mind that she'd taken it without asking.

"Because this is getting ridiculous," I said solidly, pushing my chair in and grabbing my shoes from the corner of the kitchen, where I'd left them last night. "I need an owl."

"And what do you plan on buying it with? You don't have any money." Mom looked at me with a very disapproving stare. "And do you plan on buying its food?"

"I'm not poor, you know," I said, raising my voice and I walked away from mom and to my room to get my wand from my writing desk. I shoved it into a small, loose corduroy messenger bag – the bag was maybe an inch higher than the wand – and dropped my small money bag in a well. "And," I yelled, my voice lowering as I returned to the kitchen, "They pretty much get their own food. Owls hunt, I won't need to feed it much. Just water, really."

"You have to clean up after it," she practically scolded, like I was a trouble child bringing home a stray puppy.

"It's not gonna crap all over the house," I defended. "Anyway, I'm leaving now." And with a spin and a crack, I was gone.


	6. We Can Work it Out

I have always, and will always, love Diagon Alley. It's so alive, and there's so much to do and to see. All the shops are amazing, even after years and years of coming, and there are always new and interesting people out and about. By eavesdropping very cleverly, you can always find a bit of news about someone you know, or something that hasn't happened yet but is going to. I found out about the Triwizard Tournament last August by listening in on the conversation of two medi-wizards, who thought it was "very distasteful."

Today, I tried to take as much time as I possibly could. I checked out Quality Quidditch Supplies, even though I definitely was not a good enough flyer for the sport, and I got an ice cream at Florean Fortescue's. It was still early in the morning, only about eight or nine and the sky had a cloud cover I hadn't expected. A damp chill clung to me, and the air smelled fresh, not yet contaminated by the day-to-day smell of shops and people. Diagon Alley was virtually empty this morning, and it was weirding me out a little.

By finally deciding to get my owl and get on home, I found that the Magical Menagerie didn't open until ten thirty. Obviously it wasn't ten thirty yet, but I wasn't sure how long it was 'til then because I'd forgotten to wear a watch or something. Quality Quidditch Supplies had a clock, but I would feel like a creep popping in just to check the time, without having bought anything the first time. I could go to Flourish and Blott's, I knew that was open, but I only had a couple of Galleons, and I wasn't quite sure how much an owl cost.

"But who cares?" I muttered to myself, heading back up the cobblestone street to the bookstore. If I needed more money for an owl, I could just go get it out of my vault. I no longer had to save money for school books and robes, and I knew I had a lot of money saved up; a lot of money for a seventeen year old with nothing to buy, anyway.

I've always loved the smell of a room full of books. So you can imagine how happily I browsed the shelves of an entire building of books, looking for just the right one… or two, or three. I'm not the type of person who can read for hours and hours on end, or finish a book with over three hundred pages in one day, but I still adore reading. It's just all about finding the right book, and the right conditions. An assistant offered to help me, but I had to tell him that I had no clue exactly what I was looking for. Perhaps he got paid by how much work he did, because when he walked away, he looked downcast.

After at least a half hour of scanning shelves, I was unable to find anything that interested me. It was a pity, but the assistant, who seemed very eager to help, came scuttling over. "Can't find anything?" he asked.

"Not this time," I replied, shrugging. He smiled, but I'm not sure why.

"You could try Obscurus books," he suggested, clasping his hands behind his back. "It's just up by Ollivander's. Lots of peculiar books there, one might interest you."

"Oh yeah, thanks," I said, shaking the man's hand when he held it out for me. _Weird chap_, I thought, leaving the store. It was a lot warmer now, and the clouds had cleared to show off a brilliant, blazing sun. The Alley was getting fuller and fuller by the minute, it seemed, as I walked quickly up the street in the direction of the wand maker's store. People smiled and waved at me, and I smiled and waved back even though I had no clue who any of them were.

When I got to Obscurus, the first thing I noticed was that it was nothing at all like Flourish and Blott's. This store was a bit on the shabby side, with a peeling sign and dusty windows. The door creaked when I opened it. Inside there were shelves upon shelves of books, most a bit old or second hand looking. The only light inside the whole place came from two burning torches – one at the front and one at the back – and the dirty sunshine peeking through the scattered dust-free spots of the window. An oily-haired man in dusty robes stood behind the counter, and he bowed when I looked at him. I just smiled nervously back.

Instead of frightening, like one might expect from a store like this, it seemed antique and exotic. Somewhere I'd always wished I was artistic or odd enough to hang out in, but never was, and even if so, I had no clue where such a place existed. As out of place as I sometimes felt in bookstores, this one was a winner, and I knew I'd be making many return trips. Even the grease ball at the counter seemed very cool, and he probably had a lot of interesting stuff to say.

He didn't ask me if I needed help looking for anything, though, which was also nice. I was very obviously browsing, and I suppose he picked up on that. But I could feel his eyes on me as I moved between the aisles. There were so many fantastic sounding books here, set up in no order that I could find. Speaking of finding, I found a book in the first ten minutes of looking. It was called Hairy Snout, Human Heart, and there was no listed author. But I read the first page, and it drew me in right away, so I decided to buy it.

"Four Knuts," the man informed me when I put the book up on the counter. It was an exceptionally cheap price for a book, I thought, so I happily paid up. Besides, if the book sucked, I wouldn't feel so ripped off. "I read this book once. Interesting thing." His voice was gravelly.

"I hope so," I replied, not really sure what to say. I was never sure what to say to people who expressed like to the things I was buying.

"Have a pleasant day," he muttered, and I nodded and scurried out of the shop. So maybe it was a little bit creepy, too. I decided that next time I went there, I'd bring a friend.

It was ten forty when I finished up and stepped out into the hot sunshine. I began wishing I hadn't worn jeans today – how did all these men and women in robes cope with the heat? The older ones still didn't wear muggle clothes, no matter what. I found robes stuffy and awkward, but I still wore them in school, where I didn't have a choice otherwise.

The Magical Menagerie was a small, dingy shop that made ten times the noise that the building should hold. It was packed, compared to its size, so I had to squeeze though tons of witches and wizards to get to the back, where they kept the owls. I could have gone to the Owl Emporium a few buildings down, but their owls always seemed so stuck up, and they all looked the same. Here, I located a beautiful, albino barn owl. He was sort of small, too; a runt, but at first glance, I decided I loved him. And he was only six Galleons, which was a steal. Probably because he was so runty.

Nevertheless, I bought him, and took him side along apparating home, which I'm not sure he enjoyed all too well. I decided to name him Ramsay, and brought one of the end tables in from the shed out back to put in my room and set his silver cage on. He was half in sunlight where I set him, and he seemed pleased by the warmth. He nipped my finger in thanks – at least, I think it was in thanks.


	7. Spider's Web

Not very good, I will admit. But it is a chapter, and I just wanted to get one out.

* * *

"This is way too much for my first full day of summer break," I muttered breathlessly, squatting down on the parched grass. The hot midday sun beamed down on the back of my neck as I hung my head forward and struggled to catch my breath. I'd never run as fast or as far as I had just a half hour ago, and never with as much reason. I'd gotten an owl from Fred Weasley in the early morning. At first I hadn't believed it, but now I had no other choice.

_Lena,_ it'd said,

_It would definitely be in your best interests  
to get out of your house, or away from your mother  
as fast as you can. She's a Death Eater, I'm positive.  
Well, I'm not positive, but Mad-Eye told us.  
Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at twelve-thirty. I'll explain  
everything, and you can come with me.  
Fred _

At first I thought he was off his rocker, and I had no clue who Mad-Eye was, or why he'd think my mother was in league with You-Know-Who. But I brought it up to my mother anyway, just in passing, at breakfast. I shouldn't have. I regret it terribly.

"So, mom," I said carelessly, poking at my eggs with a fork. "I got a letter from a friend at school this morning."

"Okay," she said absentmindedly, probably not sure what this had to do with her. I took a deep breath. It was eleven o'clock – brunch.

"My friend… well, he said that… he said that someone told him you were a Death Eater." What a wonderful thing to say to a mother, standing at the sink, charming the dishes to wash themselves. She nearly dropped her wand when I said it, though.

"Why would anyone think that?" she asked shakily, tugging down on the cuff of her left sleeve.

"I don't know," I said conversationally, a little unsure about her mood. "Are you?"

"Of course not!" she said, pointing her wand at a plate a little vigorously, and sending it flying at the wall instead of floating it softly into the cupboard. I cringed. Mom sighed.

"It's a lot more complicated than this," she said lightly, as if she was telling a five year old why mommy and daddy slept in different beds now. "It's… it's a lot of history, and …"

"Hold it," I shouted, although raising my voice was completely unnecessary. "So you _are_ a Death Eater?" I shoved myself up from the table, knocking the chair back.

"I knew Tom, when we were both young… well, I was young, and he wasn't so…"

"Tom? Who the hell is Tom?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"Voldemort!" she screamed, very obviously fed up. I flinched. "When he was rising to power the first time, I met him outside a pub, and at the time I thought what he was doing was right! But then I got pregnant, and he started getting angrier, crazier… uglier. And he went after Lily and James Potter, and he looked… he looked like a nightmare! He had red eyes, and a face like a snake, and so I took off. But… but now I'm not so sure anymore. Maybe killing mudbloods is the right way to go."

"Mom!" I screamed, feeling anger, fear, confusion, sadness, and betrayal bubbling up inside me. I felt like my head was going to explode, or my chest was going to collapse. Like I couldn't scream loud enough to stop it, or think of what to say. All I could do was scream again, "mom!"

"Oh Lena," mom sighed, but it was more begging than annoyance.

"No," I said firmly, my eyes wide. "No, there's seriously something wrong with you. There must be some ridiculously imbalanced chemicals in your brain. Kill all the muggleborns? What the hell is your problem? What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" I was hysteric.

She reached out for me, but I bolted. And half an hour later, found myself crouching on the yellowed grass of an empty field on the outskirts of town, breathing heavily and nearly crying. My mother is a Death Eater… wants to kill muggleborns… had a baby with You-Know-Who? My ankles gave out and I fell on my butt. My mother had a baby with You-Know-Who and took off with said baby… "I'm an only child," I whispered, before letting out an ear-shattering scream.

"Oh Merlin," I muttered frantically, hopping up from the ground and dusting off my jeans. "Oh Merlin this is a mess, this is not okay, I am not okay with this." I was finding it hard to breathe, but I wheezed on, "I can't be. This is unrealistic. I am not. I must have a brother or sister. I have to. Oh Merlin."

And because I couldn't think of anything else to do, I apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

*

It was only ten past twelve, but I could see a shock of red hair in the far back of the pub. Beside that mop of orange there was bushy brown and jet black. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, I assumed, which I was both happy and distraught about. I wanted the chance to tell Fred everything I'd learned today, but there was no way I'd do it in front of Potter. He'd probably Avada Kedavra me right in the middle of the pub.

The redhead turned around. "Lena!" he shouted happily, waving me over. I walked shakily, still weighed down by all I'd learned today. Things were happening much too quickly. And things were much, much too unbelievable.

"You don't look so well," Hermione commented when I sat down across from her and Fred, beside Harry. I felt like a dirty traitor.

_Thanks, tips_ I thought sarcastically, and immediately regretted it. She'd never done anything to me. "I don't feel so great," I admitted. "I learned some things today."

"What?" Potter asked seriously, staring at me with intense green eyes. I didn't like his eyes – they made me feel like he knew legilimency.

I took a deep breath, deciding that if they were going to kill me, it best be when we weren't around much of anyone, besides Tom the barkeep, and a scattered handful of patrons.

"Well you were right about my mom," I started, before launching into my story with as much detail as I could. My voice broke once or twice from nerves. Their eyes were open huge.


End file.
